


tying the (top)knot

by aiyah



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Candles, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hair Combing Ceremony, M/M, Marriage, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26239012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aiyah/pseuds/aiyah
Summary: Because there's nothing quite like being literally swept off of your feet on your wedding night.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 313





	tying the (top)knot

**Author's Note:**

> for foxxy.
> 
> wow, did shen finally write something canon-y for once? ~~jk~~ it's still kinda AU though, but a girl can hope...
> 
> inspired by [traditional hair combing ceremonies](https://brideandbreakfast.hk/2018/01/11/chinese-wedding-traditions-hair-combing-ceremony/) and [other traditions](https://www.everyculture.com/North-America/Copper-Eskimo-Marriage-and-Family.html).
> 
> unbeta'd as always; all mistakes are mine (:

✦ ✧ ✦「一梳梳到尾」✦ ✧ ✦

 _Whoever thought it was a good idea to bathe in pomelo leaves clearly never tried it out themselves_ , Zuko decides. He’s resting in the bathing chambers of the palace, wondering how the thick leaves have managed to infiltrate every conceivable space known to Agni. The waxy leaves are practically springing forth from every crevice in the steaming water, and he’s sure that it will take countless hours to clean out the bath after he finishes.

 _Bathing in hot leaf juice is literally the farthest thing from relaxing_.

Zuko lifts a hand from the swirling tub, a rivulet of water cascading down from his pruning fingertips. The sea of glossy green ripples around him, punctuated by bits of pink and and white from the floating lotus blossoms. Zuko reaches down, cups a dewy flower in both hands, and lifts it to his nose, the smell of soft-sweet overtaking his senses against the bitter citrus of pomelo lingering in the air. Earlier that night, Uncle had mentioned something about the purifying and rejuvenating qualities of pomelo, but Zuko had been too nervous to pay attention before slipping into the tub and trying to breathe his anxiety away.

It also gives him some time to reminisce. Zuko idly reaches up towards his neck, his fingers running over the grooves of his choker. He remembers how excited Sokka had been when he first gave it to Zuko, how the delicate engravings of water and fire and stars creased against the pale ivory of each whale-walrus tooth as Zuko held it up to the light.

“Sokka made this just for you, you know,” Katara had told Zuko when he first showed her Sokka’s gift, the two of them marveling at the intricate handiwork. “He must be serious about you.”

(Zuko doesn’t doubt that for a moment.)

He never takes his choker off—not during official meetings or royal audiences, not during the clandestine rendezvous he has with the Southern Water Tribe ambassador in the dark halls of the palace, with chaste hugs and forehead kisses that leave the Fire Lord flushing as he brushes down his wrinkled robes and adjusts his lopsided topknot before heading off to his next public engagement.

And _oh_ —their engagement. It happens in typical Sokka fashion, with equal parts chaos and wonder and a whirlwind of a time. Sokka had started out by first whisking Zuko away from his royal duties and on a trip to Sokka’s childhood home for a deliriously enjoyable round of penguin sledding—Zuko had slid face-first into a snowdrift before being pulled out by his laughing boyfriend—that ended in a snowball fight with the village children. (The children won fair-and-square, of course.) Zuko remembers the grin on Sokka’s face when Zuko tries sea prune stew with seaweed noodles for the first time. The sea prunes were definitely an acquired taste, but Zuko grows fond of the briny-sweet taste, the flavors reminding him of something nostalgic, something melancholy deep inside his heart.

His mind flashes towards the time they spent together at the Fire Lily Festival in the capital, how Sokka had somehow misplaced his yukata in Zuko’s chambers and decided to put on the first thing found in Zuko’s closet. The golden dragon had shimmered along Zuko’s red yukata in the dim light of the festival, Sokka proudly showing off the master craftsmanship of each scale, each claw to everyone they passed by. Zuko had hid his blush behind his bamboo hand fan, Sokka’s sea-blue yukata sliding off of his shoulders every time Sokka reached out to lace their fingers together. The two of them had walked towards a peddler selling sky lanterns, Zuko buying one and writing “ _I wish for us to be together forever_ ” in spindly black calligraphy on the side before handing the lantern to Sokka.

“I have no need for wishes,” Sokka had declared before he lit and released the lantern, watching as it floated up and away to join the hundreds of thousands of glowing lights climbing higher and higher into the starry sky. “I already have everything that I’ve ever wished for.”

“ _Oh_ ,” and Zuko grinned madly before stealing a quick kiss from his boyfriend. “I’m very happy to hear that.”

More memories surface with each breath that Zuko takes. He recalls how he and Sokka spent a lazy afternoon lounging on the banks of the turtleduck pond in the palace, how Sokka was napping in his lap while he tossed pieces of bread towards the turtleducklings chirping as they splashed about. It was the first time that Sokka had pulled out the gift and showed it to Zuko, the whale-walrus choker that he had made just for his love.

“Marry me,” Sokka had whispered breathlessly, hands trembling as he released the golden clasp and held the choker out towards Zuko, crimson blooming all over his face. “Marry me, and you’ll make me the happiest man alive.”

Heart pounding, Zuko had slipped on the choker without a second thought. (Well, he might’ve cried a tear or two, but no one needed to know—and not even the turtleducklings.)

His eyes are beginning to water in the bath, and Zuko tells himself that it’s just the mist, the steam rising from the bath, because no one needs to know just how sentimental he is over the entire situation. Zuko’s spent his entire life chasing ghosts, and having his very own dream coming true is incredible. He still can’t believe that he’s going to be marrying his best friend tomorrow, and he pinches himself on the arm just to make sure.

( _Ow_. Zuko’s arm stings. This is real, all right.)

Sighing, he wonders how much longer he should stay in the water, if the pomelo leaves will actually cleanse him of the terrible things he’s done in the past or if the water will make him prunier than sea-prunes. Zuko wants nothing more than to jump into Sokka’s arms right this instant, but tradition and honor are fickle, telling him to wait. 

( _You’re not allowed to see him until the actual ceremony, my dear, but be patient_.) 

“I miss him,” Zuko thinks out loud, the words bouncing against the walls and echoing in the room. He misses Sokka’s smile, the way that his boyfriend—wait, his _fiancé_ —would burst out laughing in the morning at Zuko’s turtleduck-nest of hair, even the way that Sokka snores when he falls asleep after a particularly grueling day of work. Zuko misses all of these things, and he can feel a twitch of agitation building in his chest.

 _I just want to see him_ , he thinks as he finally pulls himself out of the bath, water and leaves and lotus blossoms dripping everywhere. Zuko finds a towel on a nearby stool, along with a neatly-folded crimson yukata that flashes with the telltale sign of a phoenix trapped on the back of the robe in golden silk thread. He takes his time drying off, wringing as much water as he can from his sleek hair before picking up the robe and pulling it over his shoulders one sleeve at a time. The robe is light and airy, and if Zuko lets himself drift away in the soft comfort, he can almost forget about everything else in the world.

Zuko leaves the bath with that twitch in his chest and a hiccup in his throat.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

“Did you get everything ready, Dad?”

A pause, and something clatters. “I sure hope so. You gave me quite the list of items to work with, Sokka.”

“Dad, please.”

A chuckle. “I know, I know. You’ll do just about anything for Zuko, won’t you? Tui only knows that the boy has got you wrapped around his finger.”

“It’s not like that!”

“Sokka, you’re my son. I see the way you look at him, and I’m surprised it took the two of you so long to finally decide to get married.”

“Zuko means more to me than just a mere ceremony, Dad.”

“I don’t remember you saying this when you decided to have a traditional ceremony back home last week.”

“ _Dad_.”

More laughter. “I’m just kidding.” Some shuffling. “Did I do this right?”

“I think so?”

“So let me go through this again to make sure I have it right. All I have to do is comb your hair.”

“It’s not that simple, Dad.”

“Huh?”

“You also have to read this.” A paper falls to the floor. “Here.”

A pause, then: “Sokka, why the heck do I have to read this?”

“It’s for Zuko, Dad.”

“Uh, okay. Just give your ol’ dad a moment to read this. The handwriting is practically illegible!”

“Dad, that’s my handwriting.”

“Whoops, my bad.” 

✦ ✧ ✦「二梳梳到白髮齊眉」✦ ✧ ✦

The first thing Zuko notices in the room is the table. It’s large (even by Fire Nation nobility standards), the red-brown of the fragrant rosewood gleaming with a smooth, lacquered finish. The table is a far cry from the well-worn desk that Zuko usually uses, and he wonders how many people it took to move the table into the room.

There’s a knock on the door, and Zuko watches as his sister sidles in, a platter of duck and chicken in one hand and a bowl of fruits in the other. Azula smiles wordlessly at her brother as she places both items on the table, her eyes soft.

“Can’t believe you’re getting married tomorrow, Zuzu!” She remarks, but there’s no bite in her tone. Azula had been broken beyond belief after the war, her mind so twisted that it had taken months, if not years, for her to finally unravel all the knots in her head and her heart. Zuko had been with her every step of the way, devoting much of his time to understanding and alleviating the years of pain and torment that had tortured his sister for much of her life. They’re at a wobbly trust right now, and Zuko can feel it stabilizing, day after day.

He just smiles at Azula, hoping that she won’t sense the inner stress boiling inside him.

“You look stressed,” Azula says, her eyes narrowing as she walks up to her brother. “So what’s up?”

( _Why is she so perceptive?_ )

“I’ve always been a people-person, Zuzu,” Azula grins. “And before you say anything, _yes_. You did say the perceptive part out loud.”

“I did?” Zuko coughs lightly.

“You sure did,” and Azula’s grinning as she pokes Zuko’s chest. “Nothing like a bit of pre-wedding jitters to start a marriage off strong, right?”

Zuko shakes his head slightly.

“ _Zuzu_ ,” Azula sighs, wrapping an arm around her brother and ushering him towards a chair. She smells like lavender and the ginger tea that Katara likes to drink, and Zuko wonders briefly if his sister has been meeting up with Katara again. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Am I?”

Zuko watches as his sister wrinkles her nose. “Of _course_. That’s what I’ve been saying the entire time. Trust me, I bet Sokka’s a hundred—wait, no—a _thousand_ times more nervous than you right now.”

“How would you even know that?”

Azula walks towards a closet and opens it. “Talked to Kat enough to get a good read on her brother. What can I say? A girl never tells.”

“ _Really_.”

“Yeah, really.” Zuko watches as his sister dives into the closet and disappears from his view. “You can totally trust me on that.”

“I see.”

“Ah ha!” Azula pokes her head out from the closet and waves a fabric-wrapped package in the air. “Found it exactly where Uncle said he hid it. We’re back in business now.”

She brings the package over to the table and opens it, pulling out a pair of round combs and placing them next to two candles she shoves onto some nearby candleholders. A round mirror and a red ruler follow in the candles’ footsteps, and Azula arranges them neatly on the table before adding a pair of red scissors with a flourish. 

“All done!” Azula declares as she adds one final touch—a sprig of evergreen cypress tied with red thread—to her arrangement. She leans back and surveys her work with an air of confusion. “That’s funny—where’s the sewing kit?”

Zuko flushes. “The sewing kit is meant for the bride.”

“Oh, makes sense. Well, I hope this’ll be okay. Don’t think a sewing kit suits you anyways,” Azula mutters as she reaches up and fumbles with her topknot. She pulls out a glinting pin and lays it next to the cyprus on the table.

“I just hope I’m not making a mistake,” Zuko mutters aloud to no one in particular. The anxiety is gnawing away at him, and he suddenly finds it hard to breathe. The past few months have been the happiest memories he’s ever had, and Zuko desperately wishes that he isn’t making the wrong choice.

( _There is no wrong choice with Sokka_.)

He isn’t prepared for his sister to come up, grab him by both of his shoulders, and shake him slightly. “Zuzu! Don’t be an ostrich-horse! Get your head out of the sand, okay?”

The sudden movement is enough to shock Zuko back into his senses. “Okay. Okay. _Okay_. I’m feeling better now.”

“You better be,” Azula waves a finger at him. “Uncle’s coming in a few minutes, and he doesn’t need to see you getting cold feet and running away all of a sudden. Then _I’ll_ be the only one here, and I’ll have to listen to his infernal advice about life.”

(Zuko happens to think that his uncle’s advice is fairly solid, backed by years of memory and experience.)

And speaking of Agni—there’s a knock on the door, and Azula runs forward to open it. Zuko watches as his uncle walks into the room, wearing a billowing yukata and clutching a steaming mug of tea in his hands that smells vaguely like jasmine and something else—something soothing.

“Zuko! My dear nephew, are you ready for the ceremony?” Iroh bellows, and Zuko almost winces and forgets that it’s almost midnight _and they haven’t even done the ceremony yet_. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

( _No, not really_.) 

“That doesn’t sound like a ‘ _yes_ ’ to me,” Iroh replies, striding towards a nearby chair and collapsing in it happily. “Having second thoughts?”

 _Second thoughts? About Sokka? Or about the ceremony?_ The dam of emotion behind Zuko’s ribs cracks, and he finds his eyes welling up with unshed tears. “A little bit.”

“Oh, come here, you,” Iroh sighs, opening his arms. “And you too, Azula. Come give your old uncle Iroh a hug.”

And as the three of them hug it out (albeit somewhat unwillingly, if Azula’s squirms are a sign of anything), Zuko can finally hear the hiccup in his throat subside to a wheezy breath.

Azula’s the first one to cave in, untangling her arms as she jumps back to the side. “This body-hug-touching thing is a lot, honestly. Are y’all done, or can I leave?”

“Leave, and not see your older brother experience a veritable _tradition?_ ”

“A tradition of what?” Azula retorts. “Because as far as I can tell, all Zuzu does is work all day and night. I don’t see him doing anything that screams _tradition_.”

“But this ceremony is sacred,” Iroh says gravely. “And every single person in our family has performed it before their marriage ceremony. And it doesn’t really take that long. Please stay, Azula. If not for me, then for Zuko.”

To her credit, Azula actually looks like she’s considering her uncle’s offer. 

“Okay, fine. I’ll stay.”

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

“So let me get this straight. All I have to do is to light these candles, comb your hair a few times, and say a little prayer to the spirits? That’s really it?”

“I mean, yes?”

“Great.” A clattering of footsteps, and a door creaks open. “Oh, Katara! You’re here. Did you bring the things I asked for?”

“Azula gave them to me, though I wonder why she insisted that I had to bring both chicken _and_ duck.”

“Just place them on the table over here, okay? And you’ve got the candles too?”

“Yup. Do you want me to light them, Dad?”

“Not yet. I’m still getting set up.”

“Then I’ll get started on putting everything out.”

“Sounds good.”

A restless silence. “Hey, Sokka?”

“Yeah, Dad?”

“I just noticed that you sound, y’know, a little—”

“A little sad? No, I’m not sad. I’m just thinking about things.”

“Sokka, are you overthinking again—”

“Oh, like what, Sokka?”

“Like if I’m forcing Zuko into doing something he’s not interested in. Like, I’m chaotic and weird and also idiotic as hell, and sometimes, I still count my stars that I am so blessed to be in the presence of such a wonderful person.”

“... Sokka…”

“ _Sokka, I swear to Tui and La_ —”

“And I know that it’s probably an irrational fear to have, but I just—I just— _I just can’t lose him like how I lost Yue, okay?_ I don’t want to feel that way ever again.”

“Sokka, I can tell you for a fact that I am so proud of the young man you’ve become, and I’m sure Mom would say the same thing. I don’t think she’d like to see you sad on your wedding night, you know?”

A sharp sniff.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I’m not crying. There’s just something in my eye and I’m trying to get it out.”

A sniffle. “I miss Mom.”

“Oh, c’mere, both of you. I can’t believe how brave and strong both of you are, and I’m so honored to call you my children.”

“Dad, _please_. Don’t make Sokka cry any harder.”

“I’m not crying!”

A yukata swishes. “You know, Sokka, I think I have just the thing for you.”

“What?”

“I’m going to tell you about a little tradition that we like to have at home during weddings.”

“Huh?”

“Well, it goes a little something like this…”

✦ ✧ ✦「三梳梳到兒孫滿地」✦ ✧ ✦

“Zuko, I need you to sit up straight,” Iroh says as he cajoles his nephew. “No, straighter. Like how I taught you for the tea ceremony. You back must be as straight as the cedar trees in the forest.”

 _Another analogy_ , Zuko thinks as he pulls himself up as much as possible in the chair without straining his back. The yukata feels warm against his flushed skin, and he hopes he doesn’t look as nervous as he feels right now.

“Good, good. Can you light the candles for me, Azula?”

Azula eases her way to the table and reaches out to pinch the candle wicks between her fingers, her eyes narrowing in concentration. A soft blue flame appears on both candles, and Zuko finds himself leaning in to study the scene laid out before him. The candles are red and ornate, a gold dragon hugging one wick and a shining phoenix grasping the other. The red ruler looks heavy, a sharp contrast to the delicate hairpin that Azula added at the last moment. The red scissors are small and sharp, and Zuko wants to reach out and touch the fragrant cypress. He can almost see himself in the reflection of the tiny mirror, a pale face hardened by years of struggles and marred by the scar blossoming over his cheek.

 _It looks like a flower_ , Sokka had mumbled into Zuko’s ear the first time they went stargazing on the palace rooftop together. _I think it’s beautiful, just like you_.

Zuko struggles to contain his blush. Of course Sokka would find a way to needle his way into Zuko’s thoughts, even during serious moments like these.

“And the combs, Azula?” Iroh asks, bringing Zuko out of his stupor. “You have the combs, right?”

“One step ahead of you,” Azula mutters, handing a silk-wrapped packet to her uncle. Iroh opens it gently with both hands, pulling out a tortoiseshell round comb mottled with dark spots. An ivory straight comb comes next, glimmering softly in the candlelight. Iroh places this comb next to the scissors on the table.

“Are you ready to begin?” Iroh taps Zuko lightly on the shoulder. “We haven’t got all night, you know.”

( _He’s right_.)

“Okay,” Zuko replies, because he can feel his heart thumping again and he doesn’t know how long he can contain the fireflies clamoring in his chest, a thousand tiny lights begging for release.

Iroh hums as he gently teases Zuko’s hair, and Zuko wonders just how long his hair has grown, all long and lustrous, a dark river that cascades down his back. Through the mirror, Zuko watches as his uncle picks up the round comb in between his fingers and pulls it through Zuko’s hair.

(And for the moment, Zuko breathes a small sigh of relief when the comb moves neatly through his hair. The last thing he needs is the comb colliding with a tangle in his hair and cutting through the serene atmosphere of the ceremony.)

“ _May you be together for all of your lives, from the beginning until the end_ ,” Iroh declares, the words rolling off his tongue and hanging in the air.

Another stroke. “ _May you be together in a harmonious union until old age_.”

A strong breeze rollicks through an open window, and the light from the lanterns on the wall snuffs out, plunging the entire room into darkness save for the twin blue glows of the candles on the table and the glow of the full moon from outside the window. 

Zuko hears noises all around him, a dreadful clattering as Iroh shouts and Azula yelps. And suddenly, he feels something warm wrap around his waist, pulling him up from his chair without any hesitation. Zuko knows he should scream, he should fight back, but then there’s a low rumble in his ear murmuring sweet nothings in a voice so familiar, he almost cries out.

“Easy there, firelight,” the voice purrs. “I’m spiriting you away from this place.”

And then Zuko finds himself being whisked out the window and into the night air.

“Close your eyes,” the voice whispers again, and Zuko does exactly as he’s told, shivering in the cold nighttime breeze with only the warmth around his waist a gentle reminder of what just transpired.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

Footsteps clatter down the hall, and a door slams open.

“I heard screaming earlier. What happened?”

“Oh, there’s nothing to worry about. I merely spilled my tea on the floor.”

“In his majesty’s private chambers?”

“Where is his majesty?”

“Shouldn’t he be here?”

“Now, now. Please calm down—”

“Sound the alarm—the Fire Lord has been kidnapped!”

A cry. Footsteps thunder out of the room.

Silence, then: “You know you could’ve tried a little harder to stop them, Uncle.”

“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?”

A pause. “You know exactly where Zuzu is, right?”

“Of course.”

The door slams open again. “Zuko! Is Sokka— _oh_. He’s not here?”

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen my son hanging around here, have you?”

“Not that I know.”

“Where’s Zuko?”

“Zuzu was _spirited away_ , Kat.”

“He was?”

“Are Zuko and Sokka both missing?”

“Oh, no need to be alarmed, Hakoda. I think I know just exactly what happened.”

“Yeah, I have a pretty good idea, too.”

“I mean, what did we expect? It’s _Sokka_ , Dad.”

“Though I do wonder where they’ve wandered off to…”

✦ ✧ ✦「四梳梳到四條銀筍盡標齊」✦ ✧ ✦

A breeze ripples through the thin fabric of Zuko’s yukata as he continues to scrunch his eyes shut. He’s sure that the palace security is all up in chaos—especially with the wedding being tomorrow and all—and he wonders if someone’s sounded the alarm that the Fire Lord has gone missing.

(And right before his wedding, even. How inauspicious can that be?)

Truth to be told, Zuko’s relieved that he’s escaped from the stuffiness and regality of the ceremony. The entire thing felt stiff and unyielding, a reminder of how tradition and honor had slowly suffocated him when he was younger. He knows he should be scared and flustered by the sudden turn of events, but a little part of his heart dances madly against his throat.

Somehow, this doesn’t seem terrifying at all. 

(Rather, it’s more _terrifyingly familiar_ than anything else.)

“Where are we going?” Zuko finally manages to get his vocal cords working again. The arm shifts around his waist and clutches him even tighter.

“Patience,” the voice replies, and Zuko thinks he can hear a sliver of amusement. “We’re almost there.”

Then Zuko finds himself tumbling against something rough and worn in a most unceremonious manner. A smile curves up his face, and he finds himself actually enjoying the clumsiness of the entire affair.

“Open your eyes,” the voice intones, and Zuko’s eyelids snap open, taking a moment to adjust to the darkness of the night. He’s outside, the moonlight a hazy glow against the tiny pinpricks of the stars twinkling in the sky. There’s someone sitting next to him, a mask dangling over their face, and Zuko _laughs_ because he knows he’s seen the mask a hundred times before.

“Spirited away? Really?” He chuckles, leaning forward and unraveling the ribbons from behind the blue spirit mask and pulling it off.

“I tried my best, okay?” And Sokka’s staring back at him, eyes glimmering. Zuko notices how Sokka’s hair isn’t up in its usual wolftail, how his hair is falling in ringlets around his face. Sokka’s wearing a yukata, a glittering dragon to match Zuko’s fiery phoenix.

“We aren’t supposed to see each other until tomorrow,” Zuko says, eyes furrowing. He’s tried to hold his own against tradition, not break away from it altogether. “I haven’t even finished the hair combing ceremony yet. Uncle’s going to be so disappointed.”

“Somehow, I don’t think your uncle will mind at all, actually.”

“But it’s a traditional ceremony, Sokka.”

“Oh, to heck with ceremonies,” Sokka’s smile gleams in the moonlight. “This is _my_ ceremony—er, _our_ ceremony.” He scratches his head bashfully. “I couldn’t wait to see you again, you know.”

“Me too,” Zuko replies, twisting his fingers around the hem of his yukata. It’s suddenly entirely too warm and awkward, and he doesn’t know what to do.

And then he’s yelping when the ground under him suddenly jerks forward. “Wait, where exactly are we?”

“Don’t you recognize this?” Sokka pats the ground beneath them, and the ground _bellows_. Zuko scrambles towards the edge and looks down.

They’re floating above the palace—or flying, rather. Zuko recognizes the soft, fluffy fur below him, and he pets it gently before turning back to Sokka with a fire in his eyes.

“How did you even get Appa out here?”

“Nothing that a few apples can’t fix,” Sokka shrugs. “And some negotiating. Though I think Katara did most of the convincing. And Aang. It’s a good thing that Appa likes you a lot.”

“Negotiating? I thought that was your speciality, _ambassador_.”

“It is, but not with gigantic sky bison, you know, _my lord_.”

The two of them catch themselves, snickering quietly as they float along the night sky on Appa’s back. The moonlight drips over them all soft-and-smooth, and Zuko resists the urge to reach out and tuck an unruly strand of hair behind Sokka’s ear. The choker around Sokka’s neck shines in the moonlight, and Zuko unconsciously reaches up to touch his own choker.

He looks back over the edge again, staring at the tiny lights dotting the sides of the hilltops and the buildings in the capital. The lights look like thousands of tiny fireflies, pulsing and winking merrily against the darkness.

“So what are we doing out here?” he asks.

“I thought we could have, y’know, a little _tradition_ of our own.” Sokka pulls out a small bundle from his yukata and opens it. He hands a straight comb to Zuko.

“Dad got to the second phrase before I bolted out of there, but I honestly think he was expecting it,” Sokka continues, keeping the round comb for himself. “I was thinking we could continue where he left off?”

“You know the blessings?”

“I memorized them just for you.”

Zuko desperately hopes that the moonlight hides the way his face reddens at Sokka’s words. “Should we—you know—hm, I’m not quite sure how this will work—”

“We’ll just go with the flow, firelight.” Sokka reaches out and threads his fingers through Zuko’s hair. “Are you ready?”

“ _Yes_.”

Zuko can hear Sokka’s breath hitching as he runs the comb through Zuko’s hair. “ _May you—no, we—may we fill our home with children and family everywhere_.”

Zuko reaches behind Sokka’s ears, his hands trembling as he combs through Sokka’s hair with one fluid stroke. “ _May we fill our home with children and family everywhere_.”

Another swift pull. “ _May we have an everlasting marriage, filled with prosperity and happiness_.”

Zuko repeats the motion once more, his fingers dancing along Sokka’s hair. “ _May we have an everlasting marriage, filled with prosperity and happiness_.”

A calm silence washes over them, save for the wind blowing past Zuko’s ears. He watches as Sokka fumbles around his yukata before pulling out a spray of fragrant cypress wrapped with thread.

“Hold still,” he murmurs, fingertips skimming over Zuko’s ear as he secures the cypress into Zuko’s hair. “There you go.”

Zuko’s heart thumps loudly as he opens his mouth, the fireflies in his stomach fluttering as they escape. “Can I—”

Sokka passes another bundle of cypress into Zuko’s hands. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

 _It’s the air_ , Zuko convinces himself as he reaches forward to tuck the cypress behind Sokka’s ear. _It’s just the air—nothing else_.

“Oh, _firelight_ ,” and Sokka’s pressing a tiny kiss on Zuko’s forehead. “Isn’t this so much better?”

Zuko practically melts into the warmth of Sokka’s arms. “It is, but I think we’re missing the best part of the ceremony.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re supposed to eat glutinous rice ball soup after this.”

“ _What? Are you serious?_ ”

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

Somewhere, many _li_ away, four candles burn out.

**Author's Note:**

> oy vey


End file.
